


Soul Searching

by Corellian_Angel



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Baby Names, F/M, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fusion of Star Wars Legends and Disney Canon, Humor, Jedi Ben Solo, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Legends canon will be honored and respected here, Missing Scene, Romance, Starkiller Base, The Force, Young Ben Solo, Young Poe Dameron, stormtroopers are people too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-11 03:11:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8951662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corellian_Angel/pseuds/Corellian_Angel
Summary: Inspired by The Force Awakens cut scene "Kylo Searches the Falcon" occurring on Starkiller base. The Millennium Falcon and the Force have different plans for Kylo Ren, showing him the memories embedded in circuits, spirit & bones of the ship, tempting him to the light. A Missing Moment multi-chapter fic. that will be cute, sweet, squishy and angsty. Tags added as characters appear.





	1. Chapter One – Final Flight and the First Order

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I would like to thank my first ever Beta reader erindarroch; a goddess of patience, wisdom, and master of fanfic. I claim any mistakes as mine.
> 
> A/N: I don’t own any of this. We’re playing with Disney’s action figures in their sandbox (snowdrift?). Disney lets me share the story with you as long as we don’t get paid for it. So let’s keep our voices hushed and enjoy the show.
> 
> Inspired by TFA cut scene “Kylo Searches the Falcon”. IMHO, they should have kept the scene. It’s a simple but powerful performance by Adam Driver that gives some real emotional currency to the conflict raging within Kylo, and makes his later actions that much more tragic. I wrote this to reconcile some of the issues with TFA in my head. [ writing-as-therapy ]  
> This was meant to be the third chapter in the drabbles collection called “The Falcon,” as it has the ship’s sentient perspective on events. Since this was ten times the size of the individual works already in there, I opted to post it on its own. 
> 
> Warning: Includes mentions of torture, miscarriage, gambling, alcohol, tobacco, etc.  
> Timeline: Star Wars VII - the Force Awakens; within canon (including Bloodline and Aftermath: Life Debt) ...more or less.

**Chapter One – Final Flight and the First Order**

* * *

 

               The Millennium Falcon had settled in at an angle, the saucer shaped starship’s portside brushing the edge of the icy precipice.  A thirty metre swath gouged in the surface of the glacier, marking the trail to the crashed freighter’s location.  Beyond that was an equally broad miles-long path she had shaved through the snow encrusted coniferous forest beyond. Branches tangled in the base supports of her sensor array, needled twigs and snow covered her mandible accesses. She was nearly buried, her landing struts had not deployed, and the snow piled in around hatches and windows. The old ship settled and groaned, more boulders tumbling off the supporting cliffside underneath.  Corellian alloy bulkheads strained against their bolts and welds, the impact of her near lightspeed landing approach having tested her far beyond what she had been designed for, but not even close to what she had been so lovingly _built_ for.  It was not her first crash landing, nor would it be her last.

The Falcon had arrived near Starkiller Base’s operations belt, just out of traditional sensor range with three beings in her hold: the Captain, the Wookiee, and Big Deal. After a series of the usual arguments and a quick supply check, the three organic beings had exited the Falcon’s hold through the portside dorsal hatch, on their way to destroy yet another superweapon, at least the third such task the Falcon had participated in since meeting Captain Solo nearly forty years prior. Her hull shifted again, a deep shudder rumbled through her frame, at which point the Captain turned back to his ship, an expression of concern crossing his weathered features.  Han Solo took a few steps forward, snow crunching beneath his boots.  The wookiee Chewbacca and Big Deal paused, respectfully observing the interaction between the legendary pilot and his ship.  Han’s silver mane tossed wildly in the wind, a gloved hand reached up to flick at a stray lock that had stuck to his lashes, his glittering green-gold hazel eyes rheumy. Reverently, Han reached out to the lower edge of the semicircular cockpit window half buried in the snow, brushing off blocks of ice with his hand. The smuggler’s action gentle, deliberate, and thoughtful.

“I know,” whispered the old pilot.

Giving the ancient starship’s viewport one last swipe at the frost, Han spun on his heel.  He marched towards his co-pilot, pausing to lock eyes momentarily with Chewbacca and then stoically hiked past his companions to lead them into the blizzard.  The ship’s external visual sensors recorded their silhouettes as the trio vanished into the sparkling whiteness.

 

* * *

 

 

Within the hour after her crew’s departure, the Millennium Falcon’s security monitors fired up. Alerts flickered across her consoles, warning of potential hostiles outside of the Falcon’s empty hull.  Overhead, two TIE fighters hovered, one at the bow, the other at the Falcon’s stern, the low howl of their ion engines echoing across the ice sheet.  The Falcon had been left at low power, just enough energy in her system to run security countermeasures and her main computers.  She could avoid most rudimentary energy sensors at this level, but her crash site could not be disguised visually. The TIE’s remained on sentry as a rectangular First Order troop transport approached from the east.  The transport ship settled opposite her starboard side on the snow swept path the Falcon’s occupants had trod, burying the hastily concealed footsteps beneath an icy flurry of downwash.  A ramp dropped, the white thermal boots of snowtroopers stomped down into the snow, the half dozen soldiers lining up in formation at the base of the transport’s ramp.  A pair of troopers followed bearing a repulsorcart of sensory equipment. They were followed by a thin-lipped officer in a dark grey uniform who strode the ramp with an imperious air.

“I want every part of this ship checked!” The aquiline featured man snapped at the two troopers.  He made a quick motion with his fingers and the scanner detail hustled off to inspect Starkiller’s unwelcomed visitor.  Remaining a moment, his eyes studying the battered freighter, he ensured the troopers went about their duties, then shivered visibly, retreating into the heated confines of the transport.

The Falcon, her systems preprogrammed to identify specific threats, was well aware of the allegiance of the surrounding organics signatures.  The ship languidly amused herself with the scanning team.  She refused to cycle the dorsal hatch, even when confronted with a high-level lock-code slicer.  When the team resorted to spreaders and pry bars, she responded with an electrical pulse that rippled lightning over her hull, stunning the men unconscious.  Another crew bearing cutting torches approached with insulated boots and were nearly thrown to their deaths into the valley below when she shook them off with an inverted repulsor thrust.  The final crew warily lumbered up to the hatch, armed with insulated magnetic boots and a repulsor field dampener.  As they planted detonator charges around her access, the round aperture mysteriously spiraled open, revealing a dimly lit elevator pad.

At this point her logic circuits lit up indignant, and she shunted their objections to the ponderous personality of her apathetic transport computer.

[Shut up,] after all; she did have her self-preservation protocols. It would not do for the Wookiee and the Captain to return to an open blast crater for a top hatch.

The wily old Corellian freighter waited as the First Order crew took their time.  Judiciously scanning the YT-1300, the troops searched for potential explosives or traps to catch unwary visitors. The rough landing had dislodged numerous item in the ship’s holds.  The troopers methodically sifted through the chaos of items ranging from professional grade hydrospanner toolsets, a sodden Whyren’s box full of children’s’ comic flimsies, to a locker jammed with antique blasters and even slug throwers.

 A slicer droid, an immobile sleek red anodized cube of virulent programming was brought in with the intention to download logs and navigational data. The troopers plugged the invasive mechanical in to the Falcon’s engineering station’s scomp terminal, only to have the droid light up with electrical discharge, its electronic shriek reverberating around the corridors as it overloaded.  The hapless mechanical cursing vehemently in binary at the inwardly smirking ship’s computer.  The Falcon replied gleefully with an acidic Corellian expletive-laced binary taunt.

 The Millennium Falcon gamely tolerated the presence of the snowtroopers who scoured her corridors, the men struggling to balance themselves on her durasteel decking against the odd angle she had settled at in the snow.  They scrambled over upended cargo crates and toolboxes thrown across the corridors by the rough landing, carefully scanning for sabotage.   They would find little if anything.  The Falcon had languished on an Outer Rim graveyard for years until just a few days’ prior, nothing of note onboard would have remained among the sand and scavengers of Jakku.  A timepart later, the searching troopers indicated a lack of success.

Satisfied, a trooper in the hold’s common area spoke into a comlink. His voice was crisp as the wind that whipped across the glacier.

“Ship is clear.”

Outside, a sleek ebony shuttle descended next to the troop transport.  Its elongated upright wingpanels scissored, and retracted along their length as the shuttle dropped gently to the glacier surface to rest on its landing pads.  Amidst a hissing cloud of the landing jets’ vapor, the ramp lowered to allow a tall midnight-cloaked, masked man to descend. His gloved fist clenched at his side, his entire posture tense, readied.  The menace rolled out from him in a wave of unease among the assembled First Order soldiers.  Men shuffled and muttered uneasily. The leading snowtrooper sentry stepped up and saluted the imposing figure.

“Ship is clear, sir” the snowtrooper’s voice wavered slightly.  She sincerely hoped it was clear, the man known as Kylo Ren was known to have quite the temper.  Rumor had spread of a prisoner’s escape from an interrogation facility earlier in the day, the result being the utter destruction of the chamber by the lightsaber of the man she faced.

“Logs?”  The soulless black lenses of the Knight of Ren’s black and chrome mask bored into hers. The trooper stiffened, clutching her blaster to her plastron a little tighter. Kylo Ren took a half step forward, easily towering over the trooper.  His tone became demanding, “Logs, maps, navigational data, security footage?”

“Sir, the slicer droid was rendered inoperable by an unexpected countermeasure.  We are awaiting a repla-“ she rambled, trying not to quail. Kylo growled, pushing past the nervous trooper. She had nearly relaxed when he whirled around.

“Have you found tracks? Heat signatures? _Anything_?” Ren’s tone indicated his exasperation.  If the First Order was to be a successor to the Galactic Empire, they had to at least try to be more thorough, more attentive, to just…be… smarter.

“Uh, w- we called in for a scouting team.” The trooper stammered.  Her knees were quivering nearly as badly as her voice.

Kylo Ren paused for a lengthy moment, perhaps waiting for more information.  When no further info was forthcoming, he seemed to roll his eyes beneath his mask, the gesture broadcast by the frustrated roll of his chrome-masked head.  The tall black clad knight  proceeded to stride through the footprint packed snow to the dorsal hatch.  The trooper at the top of the ship gave Ren a crisp salute and took a few steps back, allowing the dark knight access.  Ren grunted recognition and stepped onto the elevator pad and reluctantly lowered himself into the old smuggling ship.


	2. Chapter Two - Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I would like to thank my first ever Beta reader erindarroch; a goddess of patience, wisdom, and master of fanfic. I hereby do claim any mistakes as mine.
> 
> A/N: I don’t own any of this. We’re playing with Disney’s action figures in their sandbox (uhh…snowdrift?). 
> 
> A missing moment fic inspired by TFA cut scene “Kylo Searches the Falcon”. It’s about a minute of angsty SW goodness on the HD version.
> 
> This chapter ends with some utter puffy fluffed fluff. A good start to 2017. May the force be with you this New Year.
> 
> Timeline: Star Wars VII - the Force Awakens; within canon (including Bloodline and Aftermath: Life Debt) ...more or less.

**Soul Searching**

**Chapter Two – Home**

* * *

 

Once ensconced within the aged smuggling freighter, the dark Knight Kylo Ren emerged from the port hallway into the distinctive curved corridor that rang the ship. His arrival was marked within by a razor-edged draft of the outside’s environment’s frozen air. The hulking black-wrapped Knight paused at the doorway, waiting for the cold-induced fog to evaporate from his helmet’s lenses, enabling him to see clearly within the clement confines of the vessel. An adjacent First Order snowtrooper stiffened, then deliberately turned his gaze away. Growling under his breath, taking cautious lumbering steps, Ren moved down the hall to the aft section of the ship. Kylo braced himself on the round bulkheads and crash padding, careful of the shifting debris. He moved past the troopers searching the crew quarters, ignored the looks from the soldier searching the aft circuitry bay, the curious glances of those scouring the dislodged contents of the rear and starboard side cargo holds. He snorted derisively in his mask, the ship was an absolute mess and there was loose stuff _everywhere_.

Kylo smirked caustically at the thought of the ship’s infamous owner having just an absolute, tongue-tying apoplectic _fit_ over the craft’s current condition.

 Having slogged through a lifetime’s worth of scattered clutter, Kylo arrived at the elongated octagonal cockpit entry. The Knight of Ren paused, his black gloved hands reached up to pull away the worn charcoal-colored knitted fabric of his cowl, revealing a dented black helmet. Taking a harsh breath, he stepped inside with his right foot, arm reaching forward to support himself on the outer edge of the co-pilot seat against the awkward angle. He pulled on the dingy pale leather chair to move forward and his other arm wrapped around the head of the pilot’s chair - his somber black robes stark against the stained backrests.

Kylo stood there for a heartbeat, a second, a moment - arms spread, balancing on the snow-slicked metal decking between the two seats. He cocked his head, as though sampling the air like a predator. The breath in his lungs came rapidly now. The atmosphere felt heavy, thick, stifling. He lowered his gaze, focusing on the Force imprinted residue of the recent past, taking in the gleam of the burnished controls, the discolored leather seats, that achingly nova-bright lingering Force presence of-

“Han Solo,” Kylo rasped. His mask became an echo chamber for his ragged breathing. Head dropping further, he fought furiously against the onslaught of recollection. Despising the dry tightness in his throat, he inhaled shakily. Kylo endeavored to redirect his innate Force based psychometric abilities to pinpoint on the task at hand. He labored to ignore the overwhelming background noise of the unfiltered emotions and memories imparted by the ship’s long history of occupants that exuded from the surfaces they had touched, the air they had breathed, even the blood and sputum ground into the pitted surface of the decking. The confines of the legendary ship practically _reeked_ of history.

A timid sound behind him caused Ren to whirl. A First Order snowtrooper stood at attention in the hall just beyond, openly nervous, quivering.

“S-, Sir-“ the trooper began. Were the man’s knees really shaking?

“Leave us.” Kylo Ren snapped, annoyed. He flicked his hand at the man, dismissing the irritating gnat.

The trooper angled his head – curious - looking past Ren, surveying the otherwise empty cockpit. Us? He was fairly certain the ship had been abandoned.

“…Sir?”

“Leave us …the- this ship!” clarified Kylo angrily. “I don’t need your presences to disrupt my investigation.”

“Yes, Sir!” Saluting, the trooper attempted an about-face, only to blunder to the side of the tilted hallway. His shoulder pauldron making a sharp crack as he stumbled into the durasteel bulkhead. Taking a moment to recover his bearings, the visibly relieved trooper shortly shuffled off in an awkward gait to clear the ship of his comrades.

 Huffing, Kylo tore off his helmet, revealing youthful aquiline features beneath a wild mop of jet-black hair. Dark, tormented eyes viewed with wry amusement; the confusion of retrofits, open panels and exposed wiring of the cockpit. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the cool recycled air of the timeworn vessel. The evocative odor of leaked drive coolant, hydraulic grease, human sweat and Wookiee filtered through his nasal passages. Kylo shook his head, long black hair tangling in his lashes. He shoved an errant strand behind his prominent ears, listening with some concern to the occasional creak or groan emanating from the stressed frame of the ship. Quickly now, he had to discern the purpose of their visit. Was it to rescue the girl? Or had they sabotage in mind?

Sighing heavily, he ran a hand through his mane, exasperated. Resigned to having to do it the hard way, he flopped his long frame into the pilot’s seat. Kylo languidly pulled off his right glove, reached down, fingering the fabric of chair and running his bare fingers along the cool metal of the armrest. The familiar aura of the ship around him made the Knight uneasy, unbalancing the very foundation of his dark conviction. His skin crawled as though he was being observed. Indeed, it felt as though the vessel was analyzing, assessing – even judging him. But no… He shook his head to clear his skull of the absurd thought. Any sentient creature knew even the most complex mechanicals did not possess innate morality, or personality for that matter. How could they? They were preprogrammed. They possessed no Force ability, no imprint upon it except for the atoms with made up their mass. A meteorite had the potential for more soul.

The recollection of a stout, plucky blue and silver R2 unit, arguing vociferously with a humanoid-shaped golden protocol droid washed over Kylo. He recalled the seemingly perverse pleasure the 3PO droid took in tormenting Solo; with its inane banter, its complaining, its constant need for acknowledgement, especially when his parents were-…

Kylo growled, twisting his freed glove in his hands. The leather squeaking and rustling as he did, edges of the stitched seams stretching and scraping against the exposed flesh of his bare palm – the sting reeling him back in to the present.

Taking another calming breath, he recommenced his study, trying to locate the relevant thread of the Force amongst the chaotic weaves that filled and flowed from the panels, seats and overall structure of the cockpit of the Falcon around him. The Force exposed Kylo to lashes of sound, sensation and color - irrelevant vestiges of history and impression; bitter blood-soaked battles with pirates, the unapologetically greedy and base emotions of the parade of thieves that had possessed and neglected the ship over the years. There was an extensive period of the freighter rusting forsaken amongst the dead titans of Jakku. The recent earnest relief and near-joy of the ship’s reunion with its Captain and Wookiee, gleaming like jewels amongst the muted threads of more-distant memory.

Gods. Not only was his fath– _Solo’s_ ship a physical mess. It exuded a similar cluttered disarray in the Force.

The residue of the First Order Traitor’s hyperactive energies bounced around the ship. The ex-trooper: FN-2187, left a layer of poorly disguised fear, anxious excitement, and… some golden-hued naïve purpose… a longing… Wa-, was that romantic intent? What?! - From a mindless clod like a stormtrooper??

“Ugh.” Kylo’s face scrunched, wishing _that_ sensation had never entered his mental palette.

There was the Wookiee’s imprint, the ancient creature’s resolve focused on the nebulous and foolish ideal of the Lifedebt; the honor-bound burden of protection that Wookiee imagined he owed Solo. Kylo’s skin itched again – the purity of the Wookiee’s honor threatened to erode Kylo’s defenses. Other sensations gleaned from the Wookiee’s deeply imbedded presence, were hidden under reinforced layers of the cryptic wisdom of an arboreal space-faring alien – being nearly impossible to decipher. He wondered if the creature had some – however slight – attunement to the Force.

The old ship cradled him in its impression in the Force. The warm envelope was somehow homey - haunting, yet comforting.

Kylo growled in frustration. He couldn’t allow himself to feel this-, this…sentiment!

 Gripping the armrests, his fingers digging deep indentations in the padding, Kylo refocused on the mystical energy that permeated the ship, the air, the planet and encompassing galaxy beyond. He spread his dark tendrils out, seeking disturbances, possibilities, ripples indicating a disruption in the flow of destiny. He discovered the thread of fear and determination that had initially alerted Kylo to his fa-…Solo’s arrival planetside; no doubt due to panicked turmoil of the crash. But then, the trail of thought and emotions got indistinct.

“Hmmmpf,” Kylo grunted, confounded.

 Kylo recalled, that decades prior, Han Solo had received some hasty instruction from the Jedi Master Skywalker on defending his mind from intrusion. Solo learned to erect mental walls, that is, if he concentrated enough. A young Ben Solo’s repeated naïve imposition into his father’s Force-blind psyche had triggered that momentous event. _Han Solo getting training from Luke Skywalker_. Kylo snorted in derision. Solo did not possess a lick of Force ability, but with deliberate concentration he could dampen his strong personality’s imprint upon it. The old man’s usually powerful roil of emotions dissolving into the background clamor of the other ordinary beings around him. It was not a Force ability per-se, merely an alteration of a common meditative technique. Considering Solo’s criminal nature, it was no surprise that the cagey rogue had evolved his original mental defense into an outright camouflage against the probes of a Force user. Annoyingly, the old smuggler had once again managed to deftly cover his tracks.

 A click emitted from a speaker in the center of the console, followed by a wavering static, punctuated intermittently by indistinct voices. The speaker popped and hissed sporadically. The timbre of the voices nudged Kylo into an eddy of his own. As he was immersed into the Force’s influence, it teemed with the shimmer of the living things around him; First Order troops, officers, native flora and fauna. The muddled vocal tones navigated him to the residue of the familiar presence of-

 

_“Dad? Dad! Daaad!!” a high voice squeaked urgently. A single breath, then a rapid chant ensued, “Dadadadadad.”_

_“Holy…” – some hastily muffled words in a lazy baritone. “Just-, Whoa…I’m getting ‘er ready, kid.”_

_“C’mon Dad! Can I try? Puhleeeze! You promised!” The tousled black mop of the over-enthusiastic five-year-old bobbed wildly as he balanced on his toes. The child’s white tunic untucked from the waistband of his dark brown trousers, exposing a cherubic round little belly. He reeeached for his father, bouncing impatiently. The heel of his (they’re so cool, Mom!) shoes’ imbedded lights chasing across their surface at the impact of his feet on the deck. Ben Solo gripped the white shirt sleeve of his father’s right arm as it rested on the pilot’s chair, jerking on it eagerly. The wookiee in the co-pilot’s chair warbled at the Captain in support of the future crewmember, who nodded and grinned. Ahead of the trio, in the viewport, the star speckled edge of a spiral outer rim arm of the galaxy wisped out at the edge of deep space, beckoning them._

_“Okay. Okay, Junior. But don’t tell Mom. It’s-“ the Corellian pilot’s bright hazel eyes winked at his son._

_“-classified!” the starry-eyed youngster finished with him, bouncing once more, the shoes lighting up. The pilot’s chair rotated, allowing the boy room to climb up. Yanking on the red military piping that ran the seam of his father’s dark blue trousers, the spindly-limbed child clambered onto his father’s lap. The boy crawled overtop the adult’s thighs, the pilot flinching as the boy wriggled into a position where he could lean forward and brush the tips of the silver levers on the center section of console. His father clutched the lad’s hips lightly to balance the boy, guiding him in the drawling accent of his homeworld._

_“Can you wrap your fingers on the auxiliary power and hyperdrive levers? How about the autopilot? …No? Need two hands? Okay.” The boy shifted onto his knees. The pilot cringed at the pressure from the child’s bony joints digging into his thighs. He hooked his fingers through the boy’s belt loops, allowing the child to stretch and grasp a lever in each hand. The brilliant smile on his son’s face could not be wider. Ben darted his big brown eyes back to meet his father’s for permission._

_“When?” the child’s voice chimed._

_The handsome brown-haired man tapped the display monitor beside the boy. “Co-ordinates for Chewie’s return to Kashyyyk are entered. When the countdown finishes, it’s safe to go,” Not mentioning that the pilot himself rarely abided by the display. The ex-smuggler flew more on instinct than information, his bond with the ship virtually preternatural._

_As the countdown progressed, the wookiee took a moment to lean over, growling an extended question at the pilot._

_The pilot smirked, long grease-stained fingers combing through the unruly hair erupting in all directions off of Ben’s head._

_“Yeah, it_ was _definitely well more than I could have imagined.” answered Han Solo - playfully rough, - yanking the boy close for a peck on the temple. Ben squirmed at the prickly texture of his father’s cheek. “Right?” Han prodded his son with a serious expression._

_Ben was a bit discomfited by the shift in his father’s demeanor. He reacted as gut instinct told him to; throwing his small arms around the neck of the man holding him, squeezing tightly. Chewbacca hooted at the boy’s response._

_“Totally worth it, I’d say.” Han’s voice was rough. He cleared his throat, coughing into the cuff of his sleeve, before bracing Ben’s small torso once more._

_“It’s almost time.” The display ticked down to single digits. Ben beamed at the two pilots._

_“…Three,” the boy counted loudly. “Two,” his father matched his count in a gruff tone, “One!” the three beings cheered raucously as the boy yanked on the lever set, triumphant. The wookiee roared and ruffled the youngster’s hair with affection. The boy was thrust backwards into his proud father’s durasteel embrace as the ship surged forward past lightspeed. The stars ahead stretched into liquid lines as realspace morphed into the mesmerizing blue chaos of hyperspace._

 

The speakers’ static hiss dissipated, the sporadic drip of meltwater from the decking into the ship’s workings below punctuating the looming silence.

Shoulders hunched, Kylo clenched his lids shut at the memory, the edges of his eyes stung. _This_ was not what he had been searching for in the threads of the Force. He blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision. Balling his fist in frustration, he rose, spun on the thick sole of his booted heel, bitterly slamming the padded side of his fist at a section of the cushioned contour panel near the top edge of the cockpit doorway.

 

 


	3. Chapter Three – Han and Leia: What’s in a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I would like to thank my first ever Beta reader erindarroch; a goddess of patience, wisdom, and master of fanfic. As I did add on to it after; I claim any mistakes as mine.
> 
> A/N: I don’t own any of this. We’re playing with Disney’s action figures in their sandbox (snowdrift?). 
> 
> A missing moment fic inspired by TFA cut scene “Kylo Searches the Falcon”. 
> 
> This chapter’s flashback contains uber-sweet Han and Leia romantic fluffiness.
> 
> Timeline: Star Wars VII - the Force Awakens; within canon (including Bloodline and Aftermath: Life Debt) ...more or less.

**Soul Searching**

**Chapter Three – Han and Leia: What’s in a name.**

* * *

 

 

The Millennium Falcon’s entire cockpit lit up, screens and buttons glowed with expectation. Blinking in surprise, Kylo Ren did a double-take at the fluke result of his outburst. The background hum of electronics filled the cockpit with anticipation. The navicomputer blipped, it’s red and blue diodes flashing in a ready sequence. Encouraged, Kylo tapped at the navigational console at the upper left of the door. It glowed for a second, sputtered and winked out, mocking him. He growled and smacked it harder with the side of a fist, and instead of the navicomputer relighting, behind him the center console display monitor glowed brightly, demanding attention.

A random array of symbols and numbers scrolled by on the screen. It went black for a half a beat, then sputtered to life again, struggling to wake. The random data scroll and numbers intermittently began to resolve into sporadic bursts of shipboard security holos.

 Intrigued, Kylo leaned in close. He perched his rear on the armrest of the pilot’s chair, staring into the screen, allowing his awareness slip into the Force.

Through Kylo’s fingers which clutched the armrest that supported him, through the very air and hull of the enclosing aura of the ship; the Force fed him the long past sensations and emotions of the ship’s occupants on the screen. Each bit of data triggering an avalanche of brief sensation. The holos which triggered the past’s imprint on the Force, became longer, yet only lasted two or four seconds at most.  The confusing jumble of sensation battered at him.  He felt displaced, tumbling from one era, to a different one to another.

A cockpit holo of _Solo and Organa arguing in the cockpit about escape pods, as Solo commenced the approach to ram the Millennium Falcon into an Imperial patrol craft. In the corner of the viewport, the lush blue-green jewel of Bakura shone._ Kylo could sense his mother— no — Organa’s fear and determination, her past self being reached out to by someone in the Force.

The holoscreen on the Falcon’s forward console dimmed, spat static and threw a fit of gibberish data at Kylo, followed by another 4 second spurt of holo-cam footage.

_A chaotic, tight-quarters melee in the cockpit between the Wookiee, Solo and a gang of gunrunners._ The residual imprint on the Force of the spike of agony from Solo’s blaster wound in his rib as he slashed at a thug with a vibroblade; felt as real to Kylo as his own bracing touch on the console. The Wookiee’s decades-past battle-rage thrummed around Kylo; noble, fiery and primal.  Through the Force, Kylo could almost smell the metallic tang of blood that streamed from the wounds on the combatants.

It was not just those he knew, that the ship and the Force exhibited, but strangers too.

_An unfamiliar pair of aliens sat at the controls, each accusing the other of provoking the temperamental ship to break down yet again._   _One had his pseudopod on a wicked-looking spiked blaster, the other raising its scaly bulk out of the co-pilot’s chair intimidatingly._ Their dim intellect and greed, a greasy stain on the aura of the Falcon, nauseated Kylo Ren.

He shifted uncomfortably on the narrow armrest, dark eyes flicking back and forth as the screen shifted from one event to the next. Snatches of voices wafted in and out with the images.  He rode the accompanying waves of emotions and sensation, determinedly skirting only the peaks of the feelings.

After a lengthy fizzle of static that had Kylo’s hand hovering over the kill-switch; three-decade old pixelated footage of the cockpit’s security video data popped to life on its surface. The date displayed indicated a year after the second Death Star’s destruction.

_“So… This thing-”  Leia Organa, last Princess of Alderaan, started. The twenty-four year old princess toyed with a thin, dark lock of hair that curled down from her temple, the stray piece having escaped her braids while cozying into the embrace of the brash young General whose current mission was an exploration of her jawline with his lips. He broke off at her musing, a crooked smirk on his face._

_“Sweetheart, I sincerely hope you ain’t referring to our child as a thing,” the Rebel Alliance General Han Solo reprimanded the Princess with a laugh._

_“Han, you know what I’m talking about!” Leia shifted in her husband’s embrace. Draped over Han’s lap in pilot seat, Leia’s back curled against the armrest, right shoulder nestled against his chest, legs dangling over the opposite armrest. She kicked her bare feet in retaliation, Han grimaced in discomfort, halting her with a firm hand on her knees._

_They were spending a quiet, uncharacteristic chaste moment together cuddled in Han’s chair. The cockpit lighting was set to dim, allowing them a measure of privacy in the hangar. Han wore his usual shirt, vest and bloodstripes, jaw dusted with the beginnings of a light brown beard on his chiseled features. Likely on a brief respite from council duties, Leia wore a slimming senatorial robe of shimmering pale sea-green silk, an emerald hued bolero jacket enveloped her currently slender torso, her dark hair braided and twisted into an elegant looping updo.. They were a vibrant, young, beautiful couple, two warriors on the cusp of winning a decades long conflict and on the hyperlane to a new beginning. As a result, they had to discuss that beginning before they separated to fight those last battles._

_“Okay… um. How about ‘Falcon’?” Han suggested. He wasn’t serious (well, not entirely), he wanted to listen to what his wife had to say first. His hand travelled down from her knees, tracing her thighs, up her hip to steadily trace infinity symbols on her not-quite-a-bump belly._

_“-Haaan,” Leia warned._

_“Yeah! Actually I really like that. That’s a good one. “ Han grinned. Leia responded with a playful poke at his ribs._

_“Nerfherder!”_

_“Not too sure about that name for a kid. I liked the previous one better. Ow!” Han’s arm curved up defensively to his broad chest, deflecting her pokes with marginal success. Leia growled like a nexu and continued to jab at his ticklish spots until she had the young Rebellion general pleading mercy and good behavior._

_“Ah, ahah, stop.” Han wheezed. They both fought to regain a semblance of composure. “Well, ya know I’m totally onboard with your adoptive mother’s name Breha if it’s a girl. We can call her ‘Rey for short. Padme is just a little-“ Han shrugged, at a loss to explain himself. “Y’know, it just doesn’t feel right. Know what I mean?” He met Leia’s chocolate colored irises. The young princess responded by caressing the stubbled cheek of her newlywed husband with her index finger, committing him to memory. She would miss him terribly over the next weeks.  Leaning into his warmth, Leia brushed their lips together, memorizing the taste._

_“What about your mother’s name?” Leia murmured against his mouth. She had liked the sound of it, how it was part of him, part of a lost family she would never know, as opposed to the well-documented celebrity of her royal parents. She drew back, “I like Jaina. It sounds strong, beautiful.”_

_“I’d rather name her after you, Leia, if you’d allow it. You are strong, and beautiful, dedicated, commanding, bossy, smart-mouthed- Ow!” Leia jabbed him. “ And I love you.” Han nuzzled her ear, the scratch of his new beard prickling its whorls. Leia’s eyes brimmed._

_“I know. And if it’s a he?” Leia’s voice was husky._

_“What we discussed earlier, I think: Bail or Ben.” Han considered, pursing his lips thoughtfully.” I think Luke’s suggestion of Obi-Wan is a bit…”_

_“-Much.” Leia sighed. To curse a child with a name like that. Still, “I-, I can’t believe he suggested Anakin.” She whispered bitterly, “To us! To US, of all people.” Leia balled her fists. The name of her natural father. The name of the man that would turn to evil and betray the Jedi Order. The man who would become Darth Vader. The monster that led a two decade long campaign of terror, slaughtering millions, capturing and torturing Leia and Han. The monster that forced her to watch the destruction of her home planet of Alderaan, every friend and family member she ever knew…gone. A villain that tormented the young couple in their nightmares, even now that he was redeemed, dead and ashes, would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Han frowned along with her and shook his head ruefully._

_“Well it ain’t gonna happen, Princess. Not in this universe.”_

_“Bail or Ben, then,” Leia agreed. She kissed Han tenderly, snaking her fingers through his scruff. “Or Breha.” Leia breathed the name against his lips.” I like that. Thank you.”_

  

The screen winked out, the control panel indicators dimming to dull embers.

From somewhere above the monitor, a single drop of moisture _plinked_ and spattered across its surface. Maybe it was just a drop of condensation from the inner hull, but it had Kylo swiping at his eyes with the dark wrappings of his sleeves.

Kylo Ren whirled away from what had to be an obviously malfunctioning monitor, intent on exiting the cockpit. As he turned towards the cockpit door, the navicomputer relit, and a wide angle holograph projection of the galaxy mapped out in front of Kylo. Certain familiar systems pulsed with indicators: Endor, Yavin, Chandrilla, Hoth, Coruscant, Tattooine, Corellia, Alderaan, the Hosnian system and a dozen others. They lit up at random in a continuous cycle of coordinates and names. Kylo snarled and surged through the doorway, snatching his helmet on the way out.

He cursed the ship, the Force, the Light and whatever hand of fate had brought the vessel here.

Kylo fled.

 


	4. Chapter Four – Ben and Poe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I would like to thank my first ever Beta reader erindarroch; a goddess of patience, wisdom, and master of fanfic. I claim any mistakes as mine.  
> A/N: I don’t own any of this. We’re playing with Disney’s action figures in their sandbox (snowdrift?). 
> 
>  
> 
> A missing moment fic inspired by TFA cut scene "Kylo Searches the Falcon".
> 
> This chapter is just so friggin cute. It might make your teeth rot. I have another fic I should really update, but because this ones been betaed… well, you get this one.
> 
> Timeline: Star Wars VII - the Force Awakens; within canon (including Bloodline and Aftermath: Life Debt and all that) ...more or less.

 

**Soul Searching**

**Chapter Four – Ben and Poe.**

 

* * *

 

 

The intimidating figure of the fallen Jedi Knight Kylo Ren stumbled through the Millennium Falcon's starboard corridor into the common area, kicking aside a crate of Corellian whiskey that had dislodged from the cargo netting that was in his path. The crate of Whyren's '77 tipped, bottles sliding out to smash against the metal deck plates, their golden elixir dribbling into the ships workings below deck. The heady odor of expensive cask-aged alcohol permeated the hold.

Rounding the corner to the main hold, Kylo stopped and perched on the padded edge of the dejarik table's couch, positioning his foot against the table base for support against the sharp tilt of the Falcon's position. He noted the recent addition of a medical bunk on the opposite wall. To the left of the new bunk, stood the entry to the ship's number one forward cargo hold. A place he didn't need to look, the searching troopers would have scoured its contents, if indeed there was anything left. _His_ room.

No….No, no, nonono.

 _Ben Solo's_ room.

Kylo knew what was there – could see it as surely as he'd been lounging in it a few moments – a lifetime – before. Flimsi comics, action figures, and interlocking building blocks would be scattered like caltrops all over the floor. An old Rebellion era propaganda poster on the wall plastered next to an old poster of scantily clad holo-star _Wynssa Starflare_. There would be a plush white wampa-pelt rug on the floor and a stuffed wookiee-doll on the mussed sheets of the bunk. A place that was comfortable, homey even.

 _Ben's_ room. On his father's; Han Solo's ship. A place for family, memories, gatherings and history - so very much history...

"No," Kylo's breathing became ragged, he dropped the helmet onto the couch, it rolled into the corner, settling into the tilt of the ship. He raised his hands to his thick obsidian black hair, massaging his scalp with the tips of his fingers. The ambient sensations were becoming overwhelming. Red-rimmed, deep brown eyes flicked over every familiar corner and crevice. The soul of the ship seemed to center here. The Force then assaulted him through his innate psychometry; past images, past lives, past emotions, flooded his perception. The couch beneath him gave him glimpses of the ship's lifetime of shared meals, games, and guests.

Kylo put his hands over his temples, fingers spread over his face, elbows resting on his knees.

 _Gods._ It was so distracting in here. This place. His home- . _No_.

"Focus, focus, focus." Rumbling, the Knight concentrated, intense, his eyes squeezed shut.

" _I'm on the leader!" a child's voice echoed down the Falcon's halls._

_Two raven-haired boys pounded down from the cockpit corridor, their feet drumming on the deck plates. The ten-year-old olive-skinned youth held two hand-sized model x-wing starfighters, weaving them in and around each other while uttering whooshes and whistling laser blasts between his buck-teeth. The younger boy, a lanky youth, who at seven - stood as nearly as tall as his older friend, clutched two TIE fighters in his long white fingers. One of his ship models had the distinctive curved panels of an interceptor. The boys chased one another around the hold, dodging crates and an open maintenance bay access floor panel. They leapt onto the circular couch, running its length and bounding off the edge to land on the narrow strip of decking forward of the open bay in the floor. They skirted the perimeter of the hole, whipping past the entry to the converted cargo hold that was served as Ben's shipboard room, sprang over a tool box balanced between a deck panel and floor support suspended over the open pit. Skidding right, they tore down the port hall, their challenges and denials bouncing off the freighter's innards, as the two hellions orbited the ship._

_Chewbacca sat at the engineering station, monitoring the results of his Captain's repair efforts. He barked a query at the open maintenance pit. Han Solo's grease smudged face popped up a moment later. A boisterous shriek rebounded down the hall at the two ex-smugglers. Han winced._

" _She said they'd be back with the cake before lunch." The pilot answered the Wookiee._

_Chewie mused to the Captain in a thoughtful sequence of growls._

_A series of "No way, man!", and "I got you's," sounded from the starboard corridor. Han selected a driver from the tool box and shrugged at his co-pilot._

" _Sure. If you think it'll distract 'em for a few minutes. It's his birthday anyways, can't do no harm." Han ducked down to return to tinkering with his ship. Tools clinked as Han's distant voice drifted up through the hole, "Just get 'em to stop screaming. Tell 'em they're gonna be playing outside in the pouring rain if they don't calm down."_

_Rising from the station, Chewbacca moved to a panel set in the ceiling and withdrew a buckskin wrapped object. He just finished retrieving it when the boys poured into the common area. Poe, unused to the Falcon's layout, missed the step down, tripped, sliding on his hip and elbows to stop at Chewie's feet, clutching the x-wing toys protectively to his chest. Unfortunately, Ben Solo followed, hot on Poe Dameron's tail. Ben flailed to avoid his older friend as he bounded over the step, crashing to the deck beside Poe. The Interceptor model skipped across the deck to nudge against the precariously placed toolbox. The three beings stared in horror as the metal tool tray teetered, leaned, then clattered into the open maintenance bay with the TIE Interceptor model not far behind. There was a collective gasp and…_

" _OW! What the fu-" Han yelped from inside the hole._

_Cutting him off with a sharp bark, Chewie reminded the Captain that children were present. The boys disentangled themselves, rising cautiously to their knees, and dusted themselves off. Ben nudged Poe, the two boys scrambled forward to peer over the decking into the pit. Ben's nose had just cleared the brink when a grimy hand appeared and thrust the freshly mangled model into his face._

" _This yours?" Han's voice grunted from below. A curved wing section broke off in the boy's palm as Ben reclaimed the model from his father._

" _Sorry, Dad." Ben_ was _truly sorry. That TIE Interceptor had been one of his favorite toys. His eyes began to sting._

" _Sorry, General Solo." Poe piped up cheerily beside Ben. Han's shaggy brunet head appeared, a shallow cut marked the crest of an angry red bruise rising on his forehead. He shot the boys a withering glare._

" _Chill. Out. Now." The pilot gritted through his teeth at them. Chewbacca chortled in the background, reminding the pilot that he had set the tool tray on the edge of the pit. It didn't soften Han's mood and he snarled a blistering retort in Shyriiwook, resulting in the Wookiee laughing harder._

_Duly admonished, Poe made a strategic retreat to fetch a stack of Clone War era flimsi-comics from Ben's quarters, placing the pile on the dejarik table and stretching out on the couch with a tattered copy of 'Hero With No Fear'. Ignoring his friend, Ben knelt at the edge of the pit, rubbing his bruised shoulder, his father's anger washing over the young Force-sensitive. Han's emotions battered at Ben through the youngster's inborn Force empathy and their genetic link. Annoyance followed by frustration, exasperation, a guilt-laden yearning for another time, guilt over the "What ifs" scenarios running through the father's head, causing a leaden self-loathing, feelings of inadequacy, powerlessness. Ben shivered under the assault._

_Han nimbly hauled his narrow frame out of the pit. Ben's father sat on the deck next to his son, legs dangling into the bay. Gently taking the ruined toy from Ben, Han frowned, examining it, testing the fit of the remaining pieces. A moment passed and Han arranged the model carefully on his splayed palm. He sighed deeply, and wrapped his free arm around his son's scrawny shoulders, giving the boy a quick sympathetic squeeze._

" _Gonna have call this guy Severely Battle-Damaged, son". Han hugged Ben for a second time. Ben bowed his head, sniffling. His father's emotions could maneuver and flip as swiftly as the Falcon in flight. Ben felt surrounded by a profound paternal love, a fierce protectiveness, a faint amusement, all underlain with a thin veneer of insecurity. He sensed another shift in Han's presence to a brighter mood as his father's gruff voice interrupted the boy's reverie._

" _Hey Chewie, bring that thing over here." Han summoned his partner. Chewbacca knew when to make himself scarce, allowing the Solo family the necessary privacy humans required, especially on the occasions they were confined in the tight quarters of the starship. The Wookiee barked happily, strode over to crouch next to Ben. In his black leathery palm was a dinner plate sized, flat oval wrapped in soft napped buckskin. Ben considered the kind blue eyes of the Wookiee, accepting the parcel. It was solid, like a rock, but not overly heavy, the boy hefted it in his hand experimentally._

_The mood in the room shifted to curious and expectant. The ghost of a smile crossed Ben's features. He tugged at the wrapping, exposing a lovingly detailed model of the Millennium Falcon, its scale equivalent to the snubfighter models he and Poe had just tore around the Falcon with. Ben ran his slender fingers reverently over the surface of hand-carved item. It was made of a pale white-grey stone with random multi-hued striations and an opaline luster. The mineral contaminants in the stone loosely imitating the streaks of rust, grime and mismatched panels on the Falcon's hull. Behind them, Poe craned up to peer at the Wookiee's gift. Chewbacca woofed at length to Ben, as Han translated for Poe's benefit._

" _This is made from a stone gifted to your father by one of my people for his actions in the liberation of my homeworld Kashyyyk. It is fossilized Wroshyr wood. Though a precious thing, it is light and nearly indestructible. It would never break, no matter how many times you crack your father's thick skull with it." Han paused, giving Chewie a look of disdain at the remark. He continued the translation, "It was my privilege to carve this model for you, Ben Solo, son of my Honor-brother. It is a gift from both of us."_

_Ben drew in a lengthy shuddering lungful, whispering his thanks, as his touch drew in the affection and attention put into the carving of the stone. The fearsome love of both Ben's father and the Wookiee resonated through the cool, dry rock. Closing his eyes to bask in the warmth of his emotions, Ben forgot all about the wrecked TIE model until Poe's enthusiastic high-pitched voice broke into his mind, eager to resume the earlier chaos._

" _That's SO totally cool, Ben! Can we play with it now?"_


	5. Chapter Five - Namesake

A/N: I would like to thank my first ever Beta reader **erindarroch;** a goddess of patience, wisdom, and master of fanfic. I claim any mistakes as mine.

A/N: I don’t own any of this. We’re playing with Disney’s action figures in their sandbox (snowdrift?).

A missing moment fic inspired by TFA cut scene “Kylo Searches the Falcon”.

Timeline: Star Wars VII - the Force Awakens; within canon (including Bloodline and Aftermath: Life Debt) ...more or less.

* * *

 

**Soul Searching**

**Chapter Five - Namesake**

* * *

 

 

Kicking his foot against the table base in the main hold of the Millennium Falcon, Kylo Ren hurled himself off the bench. His face contorted in mentally induced pain. The room around him absolutely _teemed_ with memory. His own, and the riot of emotions of nearly every being who had once walked these storied corridors. He gripped the handle of the cross-bladed saber at his belt, and the Knight of Ren growled against his teeth.  He could do this. It would be proof to Snoke of his inherited weakness if Kylo could not ride through the torrent of images that appeared in every seat, every nook here.

 The dark knight’s broad chest heaved. He had to regain control; just listen for that one thread, that one voice that could give him an idea as to what they were up to, _why_ they were here. Kylo paced back and forth like a caged predator, his boots clanging on the loose decking- glaring, searching. Trying not to drown in the flow of-

But no…

Up from where he had been sitting, up, because the ship leaned heavily fore to port, was the Falcon’s engineering station; a powerful mismatched piece of equipment his fa-…Han Solo had salvaged from a military class Blockade Runner Corvette. The diagnostics were scrolling across the main data feed, as the ship’s computer attempted a continuous reboot and fail cycle. Lights danced across the panel. Kylo pulled himself up to peer at the error message on the small rectangular screen. It winked out. Then a burst of static dissolved into a grainy grey-tinged image.

 _Damn this ship, damn the Force that fills it!_   Kylo cursed silently. He ran his thumb over the activation switch on his saber, considering rending the station to scrap.

Kylo- No, Ben. Ben sucked in a hissing breath. Reaching out, the tormented young man touched the panel, then a stunned Ben Solo’s voice emerged – soft with awe.

“Kenobi…” Ben Solo intoned reverently at the monitor screen.  His finger brushed at the rim of grime, clearing more for him to see. Touching that moment from three and a half decades ago.

_A deeply tanned, sunshine-haired boy in his late teens stood in a clumsy imitation of a Jedi defensive stance in the central hold of the Millennium Falcon. He was garbed in the loose airy coverings of a lifelong desert dweller. He clutched a lightsaber in his hands, crouching, eyeing the movements of one of the Falcon’s Marksman-H model training remotes. The blue blade of the weapon reflected off the panels of the Falcon’s common area. The training remote hissed and dodged on its tiny repulsors. It rotated, rising, analyzing the capabilities of its prey. A pulse of power, then it fired an orange bolt that the boy easily parried. The youth focused on the remote’s quick motions, wary of the stunning laser.  He appeared incredibly tense, inept, clumsy even._

_The gravelly voice of a sage tutored the apprentice through his movements._

_“Remember, a Jedi can feel the Force flowing through him.” The Master coached. His paternal tone was patient, kind, relaxed._

_“You mean it controls your actions?” Speculated the teenaged Luke Skywalker._

_“Partially… But it also obeys your commands.” Master Obi-Wan or Ben Kenobi instructed. He crossed his arms over his threadbare Republic era Jedi robes, emphasizing his point with an open palm to calm the boy’s anxiety. Obi-Wan straddled a stool in the same spot Ben Solo would stand thirty five years later. The old Master hugged himself tighter, the desert hermit chilled by the controlled atmosphere of the starship._

_Scuffling uneasily, gripping the saber hilt as if it were some sort of primitive club, the young apprentice tensed, his body rigid, blue eyes locked on the remote. Rather than relaxing into a stance, to be prepared for the shot, he was anticipating it, saber nearly poking at the remote. The remote dodged to Luke’s right, dipped left and fired a numbing bolt into the youth’s hip. He twisted and pawed at his singed rear, reversing, saber raised away from him. There was a loud derisive guffaw from the pilot slouched at the engineering station next to Kenobi._

_“Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side. “ Snorted an impossibly youthful Han Solo. Not yet out of his twenties with a few lifetimes worth of adventures and experiences already behind him, the young smuggler flippantly dismissed the Force, the lightsaber, Destiny, sneering at the Jedi Master Kenobi’s teaching. The elderly Jedi chortled, casting a glance at Solo out of the corner of his eye in amused premonition._

_Kenobi stood, plucking a worn flight helmet off of a hook. He gave Solo a canny grin, lowering the helmet onto Skywalker’s white blond head._

_“Let go your conscious self, and act on instinct.”_

_The confused teen whined about the sensory deprivation of the helm’s blast shield. Kenobi countered it and Solo’s carping._

_“Your eyes can deceive you. Don’t trust them.” Kenobi maintained gently. He retreated, folding his arms. The Marksman remote zipped in a calculating pattern before Luke. It advanced, dove and spun, unleashing another orange bolt into the boy’s shoulder. Luke gasped, rotating the joint to dispel the sting._

_“Stretch out with your feelings!” encouraged Kenobi._

_Luke Skywalker pulled his shoulders straight, assuming a crouched ready pose, gripping the saber lightly. He took a calming breath, pulling the saber upright, closer to the centerline of his body. The remote feinted, dove and sailed right, it blasted a quick succession of three bolts: Right high, left low, right low. The apprentice barely moved the saber, and deflected all three. Luke Skywalker ripped off the helmet, exultant, his expression one of wonder and revelation.  The boy had taken his first steps in a larger world, his eyes to the Force opened, his power awakened._

 

The phantasms of the past flickered by, dissolving into misty tendrils of memory and imprints of lost emotion. Ben Solo violently shoved himself away from the engineering console, unexpectedly humbled by the sight of the man whose nickname Ben bore as his own birth name. The gruff wisdom and gentle demeanor of the Republic’s most noble Jedi hero, Obi-Wan Kenobi shook the foundation of Ben’s soul. Ben Kenobi, as uncle Luke Skywalker had called him, was a towering mythic figure amongst ordinary beings. To Ben Solo’s family, Kenobi was the catalyst that had set in motion events that would change the future of the Galaxy; the reunion of the Skywalker twins, selecting the ship captain that would eventually father Ben Solo, and all delivering the data that would destroy one of the most powerful weapons ever deployed prior to Starkiller base. Obi-Wan ‘Ben’ Kenobi had turned back the clock on Palpatine’s inward facing Empire, by forging and returning the offspring of the man who had played a major hand in erecting that Empire, corpse by corpse, ruined city by ruined world: Darth Vader. Vader’s offspring would bring the Empire to its knees, banishing it to the far edges of the Galaxy.

The actions of Ben Kenobi in those days, were of an aged warrior rising out of his torpor, to address that which should have been done two decades earlier.  Awakening the ability to control the Force in Luke, would bring about the revival of the Jedi order years later.  But Kenobi would perform the ultimate act of sacrifice to enable the Falcon to carry her precious cargo to safety.

 

_“I can’t-, I can’t believe he’s gone.”  A shell-shocked, teenaged Luke Skywalker, ran his finger along the grid of the Dejarik table. He was on the verge of tears, mourning the loss of a teacher he’d known peripherally for his whole life, but had only been truly close to for a week or so.  The instant, deep bond between a Master like Kenobi and the unblooded Skywalker, was staggering.  The later loss of Kenobi had torn a temporary rift of loss through the group, his essence dissolving into the flow of the living Force._

_A blanket appeared to drape over the hunched shoulders of Luke, placed there by the petite figure of a umber-haired, angelic teen girl.  Her hair was fraying out of the tight coils over her ears, her dress was soddened and stained with filth.  Though her face – like Skywalker’s – held the round, fullness of a well spent, well-fed childhood, her luminous brown eyes were old – with an edge of righteous anger. There was also a carefully maintained strength about her; as if she too was carrying a terrible burden of grief, yet refusing to let it show.  She swallowed and hugged the narrow shoulders of the grieving future Jedi._

_“There was nothing you could have done.” Leia soothed from beside Luke. Both teens looked exhausted, worn, haunted._

_Shaking his head, Luke blinked back moisture. “I just wish-“_

Ben waved his hand through the remaining wisps of memory.  The figures of his mother and uncle both looked up, as if seeing _him,_ before dissipating _._  It was one thing to view the handsome polished façade of Kenobi on history holos. It was another thing to witness the Jedi Master as smiling, relaxed, and amiable elderly gentleman. Ben bit the tip of his gloved finger, distracting himself with the sting. He’d been so _human._ Kenobi appeared almost soft; not the fast talking, hardened warrior of the holos or comic flimsies. He was mortal, flawed, old, weakened. Much like Ben’s uncle Luke, like his mother the Princess, master Lor San Tekka - Ben Solo’s many mentors and teachers all suffered and softened with the effects of time.  If he was lucky (and Solos were) perhaps he would toughen, glossed and scarred with wear like the worn leather of a holster, or favorite boot.   Much like the old smuggler – Han Solo, who had become greyer, wrinkled, and slower, but the man was _solid_ , easily having gained ten kilos of pure muscle since his rangier days of Ben’s childhood, becoming intimidating- hulking even, with a flinty glare that could make a Hutt quail.

He traced the edge of a popped panel door, absorbing the feeling of age and neglect through the Millennium Falcon. The phantoms of the thousands of moments contained in the ship’s Force imprint danced and wove around him. The ship had always been a trove of memories. A good section of his childhood was spent in it’s durasteel walls.  As a young child, Ben had always sensed the background tapestry in the Force that contained the Falcon’s many stories, but now, with training and a half decade of experience as a Knight he could pull apart those threads, look at their colors, feel the coarseness - or their silk. But threads fray, and fade- like memories. Like the ones that would disappear with the loss of this ship. His father’s ship.  His family’s _home._   At this, Ben Solo realized, someday, he too would face the wrath of age, of weakness, of forgetfulness, of being mortal. It didn’t matter if he was Ben or Kylo, the result was the same – time, death, decay – it comes to all.

The question was, which person did he want to be when that time came?

_Did he even have a choice anymore?_

 

 

 


	6. Chapter Six - A Father's Heart

A/N: I would like to thank my first ever Beta reader  **erindarroch;** a goddess of patience, wisdom, and master of fanfic. I claim any mistakes as mine.

I don’t own any of this. We’re playing with Disney’s action figures in their sandbox (snowdrift?).

A missing moment fic inspired by TFA cut scene “Kylo Searches the Falcon”.

Timeline: Star Wars VIII – the Last Jedi; within canon (including Bloodline and Aftermath: Life Debt) ...more or less.

* * *

 

**Soul Searching**

**Chapter Six – A Father’s Heart**

* * *

 

The dark eyed young knight made his way aft, intent on scanning the crew quarters. He passed by the rack of horizontal piping that lined the inner core of the Millennium Falcon. Confident in his knowledge of the freighter’s layout, he took a shortcut through the port circuitry bay. Around Kyl—no—Ben, hummed the power distribution center of the legendary starship. Every glowpanel, wire and hyperdrive powercore feed traced back to this room. Readouts and monitors displayed varying conditions and function codes. Analog switches clicked and whirred, components rotated and ticked, in this–the beating mechanical heart of the ship.

There was minimal debris cluttering the passage, it had been sheltered from the crash by its proximity to the central fuel core’s structural reinforcement pillars and the narrow path. As Ben finished the step down, the tight passage was plunged into darkness. He slowed, eyes adjusting to the dim. Static interference suddenly buzzed on the dozens of status monitor screens, casting a blue aura through the accessway. No buttons or controls relit, only the visual readouts. Gradually the static resolved into images. Ben stuttered to a halt, his gaze flicked from one screen to the next. Each displaying a variant of history in this passage. Including quite a few that Ben had naively interrupted.

It wasn’t until he was in his early twenties, that Ben Solo realized just how much his parents cared for each other. That the princess’s and the smuggler’s heated exchanges were a symptom of two people who were friends first, before the tide of romantic love swept them in. It was respect before romance. Extremely proud, capable beings negotiating the sharp edges of their independence in the bounds of a devoted, if unconventional relationship.

 

_ They were a pair of young Rebel fighters fleeing the overwhelming wrath of Vader and his troops from the doomed base on Hoth, barely avoiding capture. Grizzled warriors that were soulmates not courageous enough to admit to their feelings, forced to confront them in the confines of the wounded, limping starship. The lonely Princess of a shattered world giving in to the lovestruck scoundrel’s seduction. The wounded girl retreating, then, emboldened, the woman freed, returning the kiss with passion, stoking the fire of a love that would burn its way into the annals of history. _

_ “Okay, Hotshot” Princess Leia grabbed the neck of the smuggler that had just kissed her, and dragged Solo’s head down to her, Apparently, for this princess; propriety, breeding and fine manners were to be damned. _

 

Shocked, and with a definite mortified heat rising in his cheeks. Ben placed a hand over the display, blocking out the rest of the video, as C-3PO’s prim voice interrupted the couple in the background.

Wow, Ben’s mother... He just - just - didn’t expect...that. Didn’t know what to do with the notion of it.

Just... _ Whoa. _

He'd once hoped to find the same thing in his own life. A hope for the future - Bonds of friendship, love, romance, possibly a kindred soul. And if he was truly blessed, a Force-forged Life Bond - like his parents had, in their case, through the Princess's born connection to the Force. For every touch between the pair was enhanced; thoughts and intent shared, pain, pleasure, every emotion felt- resonating in an ever rising spiral of heightened sensation. A merging of Light, love and power, a connection unseverable - no matter the time or distance.

And now, for Ben - for Kylo; any hope of similar bonds must be lost.  Now, there was only Destiny, the First Order, Snoke and the Dark Side. And Vader, there always was Vader.

Which allowed no room for  _ sentiment. _

( _ Anakin and Vader both died, were murdered, because of sentiment _ ,) a Dark Voice whispered in Ben’s mind. 

Another screen presented a fragment of Ben’s own past. The young knight slowly raised his head, blinked, then sniggered in amusement at the event on display. It was one of many similar instances, repeated throughout his childhood. Ben’s parents’ open affection was a continual source of embarrassment for him until he hit adulthood. Or at least he’d thought so. Until on one occasion, an attractive classmate commented it was ‘cute.’ And that distant Ben Solo reluctantly agreed, if only to score a point in his favor with the subject of Ben’s own youthful crush.

Now, it was bittersweet. A relic of the time before Ben had turned.

 

_ “Ewwww! Yuck! You guys are gross!” The six-year old child aimed his plastic tauntaun at his parents as they embraced in the circuitry corridor, for what had to be the millionth time. Flicking it from the wrist by the base of it’s long curling tail, Ben gave it a slight push with the Force. The action figure bounced off Han Solo’s bloodstripes, clattering to the deck. The couple ignored their horrified and disgusted child. Leia was up on her toes murmuring something into Han’s ear. The Corellian nuzzled the Alderaanian princess’s neck, hunching over to compensate for her petite stature and listening intently. _

_ Annoyed at lack of immediate response, little Ben tossed his stuffed wookiee doll, rubber mynock, plush hoojib, drawing stylus, two flimsi comics and a fuzzy ball in rapid succession. Finally the boy threw up his hands in frustration and wedged himself inbetween his parents, trying to pry them apart. Breaking off chuckling, Han bent down and scooped up Ben. He flipped the boy upside down and held the child overhead by his ankles so Ben’s face was level with Leia’s. Leia snorted and planted a slobbery raspberry kiss on Ben’s cheek, Han doing the same to Ben’s freshly exposed tummy. The boy shrieked and squealed, his mother blowing raspberries all over him until he thought he would faint from the sloppy affection and shortness of breath. He flailed and flapped at his parents, dizzy with laughter, shoving at their noses and trying to retaliate with tickling fingers of his own. _

 

The circuitry bay faded into darkness as Ben continued into the passage. The echoes of the videos and Force memories fading away into the steady pulse of the ancient vessel. The memories projected from the ship, imbued with resonance and emotion through Force, along his own recollections– seared into him, branding Ben Solo with the weakening sentimental bonds of family, love and hope.

_ “You have too much of your father’s heart.” _ Snoke had often said to Kylo in what seemed an awful accusation.

Perhaps...Perhaps not.

He touched one panel’s screen. One in which a grainy security holo displayed a youthful Han Solo wandering the ship. And then the residual tide of emotion swept over Ben through the Force, enveloping him in a warm woolen embrace, backed by steely nerves and arms of bronze - comforting, protective, and  _ strong. _ Ben blinked rapidly.

 

_ Giving a tour to some unseen recipient, Solo explained the purposes of each room, conduit, panel and corridor. The Corellian smuggler was barefoot, shirt untucked, hair askew, bleary eyed and clearly rumpled from sleep – or lack thereof. As he moved about, Solo was speaking softly, his gruff voice slightly higher with the characteristic pitch of endearment. _

_ Adjusting a wad of blanketing in his arms, the smuggler-turned-general-turned-father of Ben’s earliest memories stepped across the circuitry alcove threshold and stopped, rotating on his heel. Pulling back the fabric bundle at his shoulder, Solo unveiled the raven-haired crown of a newborn infant. Barely able to lift his head, the child bobbled and struggled against the hand supporting him. Occasionally he’d make a grab for some feature on Han’s face, whimpering with frustration when Han dodged, preventing his nose or jaw from being turned into a binky pacifier. _

_ “And this is the heart of the Falcon.” Solo announced in a proud whisper, indicating the room with a sweeping gesture. “Everything feeds back here and the engineering bay opposite. When something goes wrong, we can often isolate it from here. “ Solo entered the dimly lit passage, sheltering the babe on his shoulder. The smuggler was silent for a few seconds, wistfully scanning the contents of the room. The infant yawned, wriggled and began to fuss. Solo reacted by swaying and bouncing slowly at the knees, rubbing the tiny baby’s back soothingly, and the infant quieted–though now dark eyed and awake. _

_ “Sssh. Sssh.” Solo hushed, “Don’t cry. Don’t be sad. It’s me. I’ll always be with you. Always there, ‘cause I’m yer Dad.” The new father uncurled the infant off his shoulder, cradling the baby along his forearm and adjusted the swaddling. He reached into the bundle and then pecked the tiny button nose of the infant. Cuddling Ben against his chest once more, Han continued, “Y’see this is a special place. This is where your momma first kissed me. And without that— well there wouldn’t be Ben Solo, the Bandit Prince. Now would there? Hmm?” _

_ In what might be construed as a critical reply, the infant yawned mightily and stuffed a wad of his father’s shirt in his mouth, sucking noisily. Tracing the back of his index finger along the newborn’s cheek, Solo swallowed hard. He buried his nose into the blanket at the infant's neck, inhaling raggedly. The Corellian smuggler’s broad shoulders shook. He took a few deep breaths, taking in the fragrant scent of his newborn child. _

_ “Love you, little Bandit.” Solo rasped. “M’ so lucky...N’ never had this. Never thought I’d be able to give—“ _

_ “He’s certainly stolen your heart. And since when was it, that I kissed you first?” Leia Organa appeared, long chestnut hair in a hasty, thick braid. Her post-pregnancy figure was clad in a camisole, with Han’s old Academy sweatpants and his flight jacket over her shoulders. The princess looked equally sleep-deprived, but obviously relieved. Her eyes were bright with emotion as she leaned in from the circuitry-bay access. _

_ “I was wondering where you were. I dreamt I heard Ben crying.” The princess stepped forward, holding her hands out in request for the child. Han shook his head, nuzzling his head further into the blankets enveloping the infant. A tremor ran through the smuggler’s lanky frame, his shoulders hunching. Leia’s hand came up to rest on his shoulder blade instead, coming around to peer up at her husband. “Oh Han-” _

_ “S’Okay. I got him. Go back to sleep.” Solo said gruffly. Baby Ben opted to grab a fistful of Han’s hair, pulling him in, slurping and drooling as he made it his new temporary soother. _

_ Instead of arguing, Leia wrapped her arms around her boys, leaning her head against Han’s chest to glimpse up at the glistening rim of Han’s eyes. _

_ “I hated that name, when you first said it.” Leia admitted softly. _

_ Solo looked at Leia in utter surprise. He stumbled over his words, defensive, confused and indignant, “ B- But we agreed to -” _

_ Leia laughed, “ Not  _ _ Ben _ _. That word; ‘Bandit.’ Thought it was silly, juvenile and awful.” _

_ Looking chagrined and more than a little bit guilty, Han asked, “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”  Han tilted his head and attempted to rescue his hair from Ben’s virtual death grip. _

_ Leia merely shrugged and hugged them tighter, “ I used to hate your nicknames for me. Maybe I was giving it a chance.” She assisted Han by carefully prying open Ben’s fingers one by one. _

_ Hair finally freed, Han swiped at the corner of his eye with his wrist, the cuff of his sleeve coming away damp.  He raised an eyebrow, “And?” _

_ “I- I walked in here, saw you two, and just now; I changed my mind.” Leia replied in a bright tone. “ Like I said, he’s stolen your heart. He  _ _ is _ _ a bandit.” _

_ “Yeah, but he’s gotta be content sharing it with you. ‘Cause you got me first and forever Princess.” Hazel eyes peering out of Ben’s swaddle, Han winked, and Leia saw the moisture gathered at the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. _

_ “Scruffy damn-, Han, you’re going to make me cry.” Leia sniffled.”How am I supposed to go back to our quarters through the hangar looking like this?” She smacked Han’s rump in irritated affection. He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, swayed his hips and Leia hit him harder. “Idiot Flyboy.” _

_ “If it’s the clothes–you wore ‘em down here. Not my problem. Be glad to help you get out of ‘em though.” Han’s expression was absolutely sinful, “Remember the last time you jumped me in here?” _

_ “Stop that, it’s how we got into this in the first place.”  Cheeks flushing, Leia pushed at him. She looked around for a reflective surface. Bending, she found one and swiped at her tear swollen eyes and nose. “Damn you, Han Solo.” _

_ “Nah, Tis just tiredness. I got it too.” Han said absently and resumed swaying gently.  Baby Ben closed his eyes and gradually dropped his head to rest against Han’s shoulder. _

_ “‘Tiredness-” Leia mused, ruffling the downy hair on Ben’s little head. The infant clung to his father’s drool-soaked shirt with a surprisingly powerful primal grip. Ben gurgled, then began to snore lightly. Han kissed Leia on the forehead and grinned mischievously. _

_ “Okay, we’ll blame it on the kid then. S’all his fault. S’Not like he can object.” _

_ A snort, “Han-” _

_ “Baby allergies. Made us all stuffy and...uh...stuff.” Han sniffled for effect. _

_ Leia was now wiping away tears of laughter, “Han, that’s ridi-” _

_ “Or somethin’ like that. People are allergic to kids, right? What’s that colic thing kids get? Maybe it’s contagious.” _

_ An exasperated groan, “Haaan-” _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “He’s out. Let’s get back to sleep now.” _

_ “Yes, your Highnessness.” _

  
  
  
  


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A/N: for the first half of the fic of when Han brings Ben to the hatch of the Falcon is in [ chapter 2: “Meeting Ben”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7065739/chapters/16100554) of my old multichapter anthology, the Falcon.

  
  



	7. Chapter Seven - Legends Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere, legends had to meet canon...

A/N: I would like to thank my first ever Beta reader  **erindarroch;** a goddess of patience, wisdom, and master of fanfic. I claim any mistakes as mine.

A/N: I don’t own any of this. We’re playing with Disney’s action figures in their sandbox (snowdrift?).

A missing moment fic inspired by TFA cut scene “Kylo Searches the Falcon”.

Timeline: Star Wars VII - the Force Awakens; within canon (including Bloodline and Aftermath: Life Debt) ...more or less.

* * *

 

**Soul Searching**

**Chapter Seven - Legends Lost**

* * *

 

 

Ben...No… Kylo?...Ben...Yes, Ben...It was Ben Solo that entered the main crew quarters. On the wall opposite the door was his father’s bunk, replete with the size and comfort upgrades that would typically be installed by an individual who often called their vessel home. The crew cabin was certainly a lived-in space, not homey or decorated per se. Sparse, yet it had a comfortable settled-in feel, like an old barracks. The galley was recessed off to the right of the bunk, and a spartan bunk for guests to the left. Ben had spent a good portion of his toddlerhood napping in that bunk, attending races with his father, or accompanying his mother on her many diplomatic missions to planets extending from the Galactic Core, to the lawless worlds of the Outer Rim, and beyond to the edges of Wildspace.

The investigating snowtroopers had ransacked the closets and crew lockers, spilling their contents of clothes, boots, flightsuits, and various personal effects. Ben approached the center of the room. He stretched his awareness out into the Force, reading the most recent residue of presences in the cabin.

There was barely a whisper of anything recent. Nothing substantial. Han Solo had perhaps entered and retrieved some items and exited, hardly sparing the room a thought. Otherwise, there seemed nothing beyond the dull impressions of the departed First Order troopers.  Ben was about to leave when an item in the jumble piqued his interest. He retrieved a threadbare stuffed wookiee toy from the heap, Ben’s black gloved finger traced the miniature nerf-leather bandolier, reflective. Solo had kept it, and not her, not Leia Organa. Odd, since the old man was hardly the sentimental type.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and a long tremor ran through his frame. The object in his hand buzzed with memory.

Ben’s earliest recollections were associated with this particular object. He fumbled, dropping the toy, as one of the life-altering events of his early childhood punched him straight in the gut. A memory embedded in the Force. Emotions, sensations and thoughts shared through the bond of a Force sensitive child to its mother combined in one aching instance.

_ The little boy wandered around the darkened crew cabin, dragging his stuffed toy along the floor by its arm. He rubbed at his eyes with his tiny fist. Yawning and sniffling he shook his mother’s shoulder as she slumbered, curled on her side on the large bunk. _

_ “Momma?” His voice was small, high pitched, and terribly afraid. “Momma!” _

_ Princess Leia blinked slowly, she reached up to scrub the sleep out of her eyes. _

_ “What is it, Sweetie?” Leia yawned wide, her jaw cracking. She stretched her neck, arching her spine to dispel an ache. Squinting, Leia studied the blurry figure of her three year old son. Behind her on the widened bunk, Han shifted, mumbling in his sleep. _

_ “Momma, I’m scared again. I can’t sleep” Ben explained in a whisper. He wrung his hands around his stuffed baby wookiee toy nervously. Leia took one of his hands and kissed the palm repeatedly, searching her son’s face. _

_ “Is it the Dark Voice again?” she asked, her half-conscious brain hazy. The boy had begun to experience inky murmurings that slithered through into his dreams. He often woke wailing and terrified, and one of his parents, usually Han, would bring him to sleep in their bed if the boy could not be soothed. Tonight’s incident appeared minor, as the boy had come to them. _

_ “No, Momma,” he shuffled his feet, looking at his mother desperately from beneath his unruly bangs.. “Momma, I feel wrong, wrong sad.“ Ben explained. _

_ “Sad?” It was a new descriptor for Ben’s nighttime challenges. The bunk creaked as Han rotated, pulled out of a deep sleep. _

_ “Whassup, Kid?” Han rumbled drowsily from behind Leia. Han’s eyes were slits, he peered over Leia’s arm to study his son. Leia felt a sickening pit of tension in her stomach. Her son was correct in his instinct; something felt very, very wrong. _

_ The boy sniffled noisily and began crying. _

_ “He’s gone!” _

_ “Gone? Who–” Leia stopped herself, her eyes widened. Han shot up into a sitting position, hair askew, eyes huge, ready for battle. Involuntarily, Leia’s released Ben’s grip and her hand ghosted to her stomach. “No…” _

_ “He’s gone,” the child broke into a loud wail. “And her, her-, Jaina! And-, and she says she’s leaving too!” _

_ “What!?” Leia barked, incredulous. Not again. It was so unfair! _

_ Swinging his legs over the side of the bunk by Leia’s feet, Han started to rise and stopped sharply. Pulling at the sheets wrapped around them, Han exposed a section near Leia’s hip. Her husband gasped and swore bitterly. Exchanging a grim, knowing look with Leia, Han carefully tucked the sheets in around her. Leia felt a cold chill crawl up her spine. Her gut cramped again and she gasped.  _

_ Han was hoarse with worry, “Leia!?” _

_ Leia shook her head, whispering painfully, “It’s… Ah -  Go, Han. There’s nothing-. Go. I love you. Just go.” _

_ Muttering, “It’s not fair,” under his breath, Han hauled on his trousers. He retrieved his shirt from the pile on the deck, tearing out of the cabin toward the cockpit, bare feet slapping on the deck plates. When he was out of earshot, Leia pulled Ben close to her with her left hand, with her right she arranged the sheets to further conceal the carnage leaking between her thighs. _

_ “I’m so sorry, so sorry” Leia whispered over and over again, to herself, to the lost twin, to Han, and to Ben. Ben’s agony at the loss of his sibling seared through the Force.  Leia cradled her son’s wet cheeks, adding her own tears. Around them, the ship quaked as it slowed, emerging from hyperspace. _

_ “He said he had to go. That I was here and he couldn’t stay.” Ben sobbed. “A–, And she–” _

_ Leia drew Ben’s forehead to touch hers. She blocked out the pain of her miscarriage, the indistinct sound of Han’s frantic voice over the subspace comm drifting in from the corridor, the cold wet sheet. Every distraction fell away except the gleaming light of Ben’s presence, and the near insubstantial flicker of the remaining twin’s lifeforce. Drawing her son’s presence to her own as she had his body, she let him guide her down through their connection to a lonely plain, surrounded by the distant starlight flickers of other beings. She held her son close as a shimmering young woman stepped into view. The Force apparition’s features mirrored Leia’s own, petite slender figure, round face, pert nose, luxuriant long chestnut hair pulled back into a high ponytail. There was also a familiar crooked smirk and a daredevil’s gleam in her large coffee colored eyes. The woman was clad in the bright orange flightsuit of an X-wing pilot, zippers undone to expose a tight grey tank-top over a muscular torso, a low-slung holster hung from her hip, and a lightsaber dangled from her belt. She was a breathtaking individual. She knelt in front of Ben and Leia. _

_ “Would that I was allowed to remain, “ The girl locked eyes with Leia, “Mother, do not send your sons away; they fall to either light or darkness. For Mother is name of god on the lips and hearts of children.” The apparition said cryptically. She gave Ben a grave look. She chucked his chin with her finger, sending an electric tingle through him, a moment later winking at her brother, ”Keep this one close, and your family will never fail you.” _

_ Leia had a million questions, and all she could do was hug Ben protectively to her, nodding mutely. She ached for the loss of her twins, sure. But this… This fiery half–Corellian jewel of a daughter that Leia would now never bear… _

_ “Can you come back”? Ben whispered hopefully, “Can he?” _

_ The woman smiled sadly, becoming less substantial by the second. _

_ “No, my place is elsewhere. As for him, “ the woman sighed, she glanced behind her at the nothingness. “ He– “ She paused, shaking her head,” We have had our time here, our chance, here, now. And it is past. But we will have the opportunity to be elsewhere, to become legends, stories from another time.” Gathering herself to her feet, the girl shifted gears, “Look, Ben, do not listen to the voices; follow the light, follow your family, follow your heart, follow love, and only after that can you follow the Force.” _

Ben crumpled in front of the bunk, his forearm resting on the mattress. He had been despondent for days following the loss of the Solo twins, moreso than the other instances his mother had lost a child. As his father cuddled Ben in the med-center afterward, Han consoled his son by explaining that this was nature’s harsh reality, of ensuring each creation was as perfect as it could be in its own way. And some creations sometimes simply did not make it.

The Dark Voice had told Ben that this was not true. The twins had been  _ perfect _ . It was a lie from his father to deflect the blame from the smuggler himself. His father’s blindness to the force was his most obvious weakness. Han Solo’s lack of even mentioning the Force in his justification would rankle at the boy more and more as he matured. Later, Ben would understand via Snoke’s wisdom that there was an inherent weakness that Ben needed to overcome due to corrupted genes he had inherited from his father _.  _ Additionally he would also be fighting against his inherent lack of wisdom from Leia Organa; as proven by her poor choices in lifepath, mate, conflict resolution and politics. But at least she’d had the Force, and was the child of the Chosen One: Darth Vader. She’d had the potential of power infinite, and given it up; let it decay under the suffocating burdens of commitment, duty, love and hope.

Ben continued to kneel. The metal of the deck plating cold against his knees. He took in gaping lungfuls of the Millennium Falcon’s gradually chilling air. Tears streamed down his smooth cheeks. Ben felt weak. He  _ was _ weak. He was kriffin’ crying! Snoke would have no doubt sensed this episode. Not only had he failed to get a precise read on the saboteurs’ intentions, he was being manipulated back into the light! Snoke would blame Ben, blame his feebleness, one of many terrible genetic flaws inherited from his Force-blind father.  Like Han, Ben Solo was weak, useless, weak, broken, weak…

And Kylo Ren was  _ strong. _

  
  



End file.
